


Dinner Is Served

by Tessa54



Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22973110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tessa54/pseuds/Tessa54
Summary: Face is sure that he can improve the Team's diet - until Murdock helps.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	Dinner Is Served

Face marched into the modest apartment that he had recently scammed for the team, a small box in his arms, straight through the living room and into the tiny kitchen. He put his burden on the breakfast bench which was the only thing separating the two rooms.

“I got this thing, guys,” he announced, unpacking the box as he spoke. “It’s gonna be great. Just what we need.”

Hannibal, sitting on the 2-seater couch alongside BA, who was glowering at a game on the TV, lowered his newspaper and regarded his XO benignly. “Okay, Kid, what is it?”

“Taa-daa!!!” Face freed the appliance from its packaging and held it up triumphantly.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “And it is…?”

Face waved the small machine in the air, cord dangling. “Well, obviously, Hannibal, it’s a Toasted Sandwich Maker. The latest thing. They’re great. And…” he hurried on as Hannibal raised his eyebrow even further, “…I actually bought this one. Not scammed. Ours. We own it.”

“Okay, Kid. I get that. So what is the significance here? It’s obviously important to you.”

Face set the little machine down on the bench and plugged in the cord.

“Well, Hannibal, we never eat right on missions. Burgers, or pizzas, or sometimes nothing at all. Well, this little baby, right here,” he patted the machine fondly, “is going to change all of that. We can usually get bread wherever we are, right? So we can make sandwiches in this thing. We can fill them with healthy stuff, like chicken and vegetables and beans…” he faltered, catching the glare that BA was casting in his direction, “…or, or whatever we want. Hamburger meat, or chilli, or ham and eggs – just about anything, really. And we can make four at once.”

Enthusiasm personified, Face continued bravely. “We can keep it in the Van and use it when we’re stuck in motels…” he trailed off, noting BAs’ less-than-encouraging scowl.

“Well, listen, guys, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, right?”

Hannibal and BA exchanged glances and BA gave a slight shrug.

“Okay, Lieutenant, we’ll try it,” said Hannibal. “Do your worst.”

“Right. Right. Just give me a couple of minutes,” Face headed for the bedrooms. “Can’t cook in this getup.”

He emerged from the room he was currently sharing with Hannibal a short time later, having exchanged his 3-piece Armani suit for jeans and a blue polo shirt.

“You’re gonna love this,” enthused Face, buttering slices of bread. “What would you like as filling?”

Hannibal and BA exchanged another look.

“What are the choices?” enquired Hannibal.

Face opened the small refrigerator and stuck in his head. “Well, I have cheese, ham, roast beef, couple of eggs. But,” he moved to the cupboard with their meagre supply of canned goods, “I also have tuna…”

“Not having any beans, or any of that healthy stuff,” snarled BA.

Face hastily returned the cans of chick peas and pinto beans to the shelf.

“… and some pickles, chutney, that kind of thing. I think we can make a decent meal here, honestly.” The trademark Faceman smile lit the room. “So, taking orders right now, guys.”

“Roast beef with chutney doesn’t sound too bad, Faceman,” conceded BA.

“Tuna sounds good to me, Kid.” Hannibal raised his newspaper. “Get to it, I’m hungry,”

“Okay. Got it. I’m right on it.” Face turned away happily and began filling his sandwiches.

First a couple with tuna for Hannibal; then roast beef and chutney for BA. He opened the tin of tuna, drained it, and put the tuna carefully on what would be the bottom slices; then he sliced the roast beef, located it in the correct place on the bread and turned to the cupboard to get the chutney.

Murdock chose that exact moment to burst into the apartment with his characteristic cyclonic energy, already holding forth before he was fully inside.

“… and I said, ‘What are you talking about? We already covered that in Group…’ What?” The other three were all staring at him. “No problemo, Muchachos. I think I told you this yesterday.”

“Possibly, Captain,” Hannibal’s tone was mild. “Face is cooking.”

Murdock did a double take “Face? Cooking? I thought I had stopped hearing things. This I gotta see.” Murdock headed for the kitchen.

“I can cook,” Face spat. “I just don’t often need to do it.” He switched on the power point and turned to Hannibal and BA. “Just gonna take a few minutes for the machine to heat up to, you know, the optimum temperature. Can I get you guys a drink in the meantime? Milk, BA? A beer, Hannibal?”

BA grunted assent; Hannibal waved a hand. Face opened the refrigerator, removed a can of beer and the milk carton, took glasses from the shelf and carried everything into the living room. He busied himself pouring the drinks.

Unobserved in the kitchen, Murdock removed the lids from the sandwiches.

“Oh, come on, Face, really? Typically boring,” he said to himself in a low voice. “Roast beef; Tuna. You can do better than this.”

He checked on Face. He was smiling and in conversation with Hannibal in the living room. ‘Okay,’ he thought, ‘the coast is clear. Now how can I help you here, Face?’

Murdock rummaged in the refrigerator, pulled out a package of cheese and, slicing swiftly, laid the slices on the roast beef, before removing the evidence.

Another quick check.

‘Still chatting, Facey.’ It was the work of a moment for him to remove several anchovies from the jar in the fridge and lay them in an artistic pattern on top of the tuna.

‘My work is done,’ he thought proudly as he replaced the lids and covered his handiwork. ‘He’ll thank me for this.’

Face marched back into the tiny kitchen. “Get outta here, Murdock. I got this. Anyway,” he waved his arm around, “there’s only room for the cook in here.”

“I can help.” Murdock was resentful.

“Don’t need help. I’m doing this.” Face gave him a purposeful shove. “Just go away.”

“He can’t cook a boiled egg,” muttered Murdock as he perched on the arm of the couch beside Hannibal. “But it’s gonna be okay. I fixed it.”

“Just what exactly did you do, Murdock?” Hannibal demanded, quietly. “He doesn’t need you to be sabotaging him again.”

Murdock put on his most innocent expression. “Nothing, Colonel. I didn’t do nothing.”

In the kitchen, Face put the sandwiches in the cooker and carefully closed the lid, thinking ‘Now we just have to wait for the green light…’

He prepared plates and napkins, watching the machine carefully. ‘So far, so good. Hold it. Should it smell like that? And what’s that…?’

Face watched in dismay as a slow tide of – something – flowed out of one side of the little sandwich maker. The light still refused to turn green. ‘What the heck can that be?’

He gave in and opened the lid. The sandwiches on the right, tuna, looked perfect, golden and appetising. The roast beef on the left was also golden, but oozing a strange-coloured gooey substance from the seams. And they smelled really weird.

“How much longer, Face? I’m hungry, man.” BA was not in any mood to wait.

Face shrugged, and sighed. He removed the sandwiches to their individual plates with a spatula, collected cutlery, and delivered his offerings to the impatient diners.

“Just be careful. They’re real hot.” He waited expectantly.

“Looks good, Face,” Hannibal said encouragingly as he sliced into his first tuna sandwich.

BA regarded his meal with a jaundiced eye. It really didn’t look too good, leaking that ‘stuff’ at the seams. What the hell was that? He sliced into one, releasing a lava flow of molten, creamy, cheese with flecks of chutney and a pungent odour. Beef was visible underneath.

BA glared at Face, thrust the plate aside and stood abruptly. “Gonna go get pizza,” he growled, scooping up the van keys from the coffee table and heading for the door.

Hannibal took a bite of his sandwich and choked. “Yeah, for me too, BA,” he called. “In fact, get enough for everyone.”

“Right, Hannibal.” 

BA closed the door behind him. The game droned on. The plates sat there accusingly.

“Hannibal?” Face was bewildered.

“Listen, Face, I know I said ‘Do your worst’, but I didn’t actually mean ‘Do your worst’, if you know what I mean?” Hannibal’s tone was gentle. “I can’t eat that, Kid. I’m sorry. It’s way too salty – and what’s that stuff on BA’s? Some kind of gourmet thing?”

“I don’t understand what happened. It was just tuna on yours and roast beef with a little bit of chutney on BA’s. Just that, and bread and butter. Nothing else, honest. I didn’t – I wouldn’t…” Face trailed off, dejected.

“I said you couldn’t cook, Face,” put in Murdock. “What you did was boring. I just improved it a little bit.” He exuded innocence.

“You said you didn’t do anything, Murdock,” said Hannibal accusingly.

Murdock smiled benignly. “Actually, Colonel, I said I didn’t do nothing. I did do something. A few anchovies here, a few slices of Gorgonzola there, taking the mundane to the sublime,” he waved one hand in an expressive gesture.

“I’m gonna kill him,” growled Face, launching himself at the throat of the smirking pilot.

Hannibal pulled him off. “Stand down, Lieutenant. Right now!” His voice was commanding, even as he tried to hide a smile.

Face freed himself and flung himself onto the couch, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, breathing heavily. He glared at Murdock, who had opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t you talk to me.” Face growled through gritted teeth. “Don’t you **dare** talk to me.” The threat was palpable. “Not ever again. And you can just go in there and clean that stuff off my sandwich maker.”

Murdock closed his mouth abruptly and retreated into the kitchen.

Hannibal smiled to himself. Just like brothers, those two...

Face sighed dejectedly. “I guess it’s pizza, then. Again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my muse, DrimmsyDra for encouragement and support beyond the call of duty.


End file.
